


Third Times the Charm

by killaidanturner



Category: Real Person Fiction, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Love, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, when are they not being tragic tho lbr here people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5371733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killaidanturner/pseuds/killaidanturner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He loves him still, like a boxing match that he can’t win, like a left hook to his jaw and a busted lip. He loves him like all bets are on the table and this is his last chance. He loves him with blood in his mouth and a sense of urgency like the bell is about to toll signaling the end of the match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Times the Charm

**Author's Note:**

> I got a prompt on tumblr for this, the ask was this, "If you're ever so inclined to accept plot bunnies, what about Dean and/or Aidan drunk singing "Love Hurts" into the other's voicemail and the feeling like an asshole when they sober up?'
> 
> I figured I could post it here as well cause not everyone follows my tumblr or has one, and I like sharing things. I also didn't know this song so I just picked one with that title from google.

Aidan wakes from alcohol laced dreams. He sits with his legs over the edge of the bed, his head in the palm of his hands. He barely slept for an hour before the churning in his stomach woke him up.

 

Missed moments, that's what he can chalk his life up to.

 

He counts the first one as Berlin, when he told Dean that him and Sarah were broken up. He had hoped that he would be able to tell Dean about how he felt. That whatever it was they were doing on set meant something to him. That when Dean’s hands were down the front of his trousers it stirred something more in him than just want.

 

He made a mistake, he got back together with her, built each other up on false promises and let Dean slip through his fingers.

 

The rest come to him in missed calls, late text messages, and a bunch of “sorry mate, can’t make it to that. Maybe next time around.”

 

They let everything dwindle down between wires and cell towers. They never spoke of what happened between them and just let each other drift apart.

 

Aidan laughs to himself as he thinks of an interview where he said things were great between him and Sarah, that they had things like Skype and emails to keep them going. “What a fucking joke.” He mumbles to himself.

 

Of course Aidan had loved her, had loved her in the way he had loved people before her. Loved her soft eyes and dark hair, her petite frame and melodic laugh.

 

Loved her for the way that she wasn’t Dean.

 

Dean and his rough hands, the way he flicks his wrist like he's always snapping a photo. The way his legs felt wrapped around Aidan’s waist at night, how his fingers looked when clenching the sheets. How his name sounded, the cadence of Aidan spilling from Dean’s lips.

 

The drinking is because he is touch starved, his skin trying to remember something it can’t anymore.

 

He’s trying to find a home at the bottom of an empty bottle.

 

He thinks about calling Dean, once, twice, five times now. He holds his phone in his hands. Has his finger run down the crack on the screen from where he threw it at the wall three nights prior.

 

He gets up from his sweat soaked sheets and makes his way out into the bar area. His feet are cold against the black and white checkered tiles, he tries not to look down at their pattern as not to make himself nauseous. Converting his mother’s garage into his own pool hall has had its perks.

 

He leans over the bar and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. He tosses the cap somewhere behind him and hears it clang on the linoleum floor.

 

He turns on the radio sitting on top of the bar and turns it to a station he doesn’t recognize. He lets the sound of drums and static fill his ears. As he takes a gulp of the amber liquid he looks at his phone again to see that it is just a little after four a.m.

 

Aidan groans when he hears the song playing on the radio is “Love Hurts” by Nazareth. He takes another swig letting the burn settle in his throat. "Christ.” Aidan pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to tell himself what he is about to do is a bad idea. He can still taste the liquor on his tongue when he unlocks his phone and goes to his contacts. He scrolls down all the way to the 'P's and hits the contact titled **'Prick'.** He waits while the phone rings and then goes to voicemail.

 

_“You have reached the voicemail of Dean O’Gorman, please leave your message after the tone.”_

 

Instead of leaving anything remotely coherent, Aidan belts out the lyrics to the song on the radio. _“I know a thing or two, I learned from you I really learned a lot, really learned a lot Love is like a flame, it burns you when it's hot Love hurts, Ooo-oo love hurts.”_ Luckily the voice mail cuts off before Aidan has a chance to finish his message, “hope you’re happy with your fake life you fucking prick. Hope you have some shred of fucking normalcy in there when you fuck her at night.”

 

Aidan throws his phone against the mirror behind the bar, shattering both the mirror and the phone into pieces. He leaves the glass there and finishes off his bottle. When he wakes again next it is to a pounding headache and a broken phone.

 

* * *

 

When Aidan turns on his new phone it is to 47 text messages. He scrolls through them until he sees that the most recent ones are from ‘prick’.

 

“Oh fuck me.”

 

Aidan clicks on the thread and reads the texts.

 

 **Prick 06:38:** Nice voicemail there mate.

 **Prick 06:39:** Did it make you feel any better?

 **Prick 06:39** : How drunk were you exactly at 4am that you felt that you needed to grace me with that song?

 **Prick 06:40:** and as I recall, you were the one that ended it between us first so you can get the fuck off of your high horse

 

Aidan starts typing out a new message ‘you had a chance to fix it between us, but you chose her instead so don’t be acus….’ Aidan deletes the letters until the message is blank and puts the phone back in his pocket.

 

He can’t do this, he can’t keep blaming Dean when he is at fault as well. They were stupid and foolish and maybe Aidan loved him a little too much. He thinks he should have never held Dean at night, should have never let him kiss between his shoulder blades, how he wanted to give Dean everything his sharp teeth could never ask for.

 

He never loved Dean like long summer days, warm and languid. He always loved him with desperation, with late night phone calls asking for Dean’s hands around his throat. He loves him still, like a boxing match that he can’t win, like a left hook to his jaw and a busted lip. He loves him like all bets are on the table and this is his last chance. He loves him with blood in his mouth and a sense of urgency like the bell is about to toll signaling the end of the match.

 

It’s the realization of it that hits him like a knock out.

 

* * *

 

 

He spends his night like the one before, with a bottle pressed between his lips and his fingers scrolling through his contacts. He thinks about calling one of the many names in there, asking for warm skin between his legs. He knows that any one of the women would come over in an instant, that they would let him thread his fingers through their hair.

 

Instead he lands on Dean’s number again. This time it rings twice before there is an answers.

 

He can hear Dean’s sharp exhale before he speaks, “hello.”

 

Aidan clears his throat. “Didn’t think you would pick up, you usually don’t.” Aidan tries not to remember all the times he called Dean after it had ended until eventually Dean sent a text that said nothing but “let it go”.

 

“Well I kind of hand to, didn’t want another disaster like last night.”

 

“I would say it was rather successful.”

 

“How so?”

 

“It got you to answer the phone didn’t it?”

 

“Got me there mate.”

 

“Don’t. Don’t fucking use that word with me.” Aidan says it more harshly than intended, he sits up as he says it, tipping over his whiskey bottle.

 

“What would you prefer for me to use?”

 

“Just don’t fucking act like I didn’t mean anything.”

 

“Would it make it easier if I said you didn’t?”

 

“Christ, why the fuck are you like this? Why the fuck do I care so much still?” Aidan is more so asking himself than Dean.

 

“It makes it easier on me if I say it, if I say it to myself every day, at least once, it makes it just a little bit easier. Makes me believe it just a little bit more.” Dean’s voice breaks when he says it and Aidan’s bottom lip trembles at the sound of his voice.

 

“What do you mean?” Aidan’s voice is quiet as he asks it, too scared to hear the answer but more terrified not to have it.

 

“I’m not doing this.”

 

“Please.” Aidan realizes he’s not above begging. He slides out of the chair he was slouched in and onto his knees, the hard floor pressing into them as if Dean could see him.

 

“I’m not doing it over the phone at least. I won’t, won’t tell you anything like that if it’s not in person.” Dean’s voice sounds tired, worse than Aidan has ever heard it.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It means that if you’re free sometime I’d like to talk.”

 

“Umm, yeah, I could look at my schedule and…”

 

“No, no, it’s, it’s... I’m coming out there alright?”

 

“When?” Aidan is trying not to let his hope show too much.

 

Dean lets out a low laugh, “in about forty-eight hours?”

 

For the first time in the conversation Aidan focuses his alcoholic haze hard enough to hear the noise in the background. _Now boarding flight 641._ “You’re at the airport.”

 

“Yes and my plane is boarding so I have to get on.”

 

“What about when you get here, who will pick you up? Where are you staying?” Aidan’s sentences come out in one breath of air, syllables smashed together.

 

“I was just gonna catch a cab unless you wanna pick me up?”

 

Aidan says yes before he gives himself a chance to think.

 

* * *

 

 

The next two days are spent in anticipation, he plays out conversations in his head. He cleans up his place, finally does his laundry and buys a mirror to replace the one he shattered.

 

When he picks up Dean from the airport it’s with trembling hands. His voice rasps out Dean’s name from the too many cigarettes he already had today. He tries not to notice the way the air grates against his over worked throat. Dean gives him a soft smile as they make their way to the parking garage. Once they get into the car Aidan has his hands gripped tight on the steering wheel but the car has not yet started.

 

“Why are you here?” Aidan asks as his eyes stay focused on the windshield.

 

Dean’s hand rests on Aidan’s thigh and Aidan swears he can feel his own heartbeat from the press of Dean’s fingers. “I wanted to apologize, for everything.”

 

“I don’t know if a sorry if going to fix it.” Aidan says it but he knows he’ll let Dean get what he wants, let him ruin him even more than before. Let those hands trail down his spine and undo every bone in his body until they’re laying in a pile on the floor asking for a ribbon to be wrapped around them.

 

“I’m not expecting it to, but that’s why I came out here. I heard your voicemail and I was sick of lying to myself. Sick of pretending that everything I ever wanted was already in my hands. A farm, a garden, a girl. I thought that was all I needed. Then I heard your voice, god your shitty fucking drunk singing and I missed everything about you. I missed the way you fucking understand me more than I understand myself. So I guess I came to also grovel.” Dean looks at Aidan with a half smile, his dimples only showing on one side and before Aidan knows it he is letting go of his grip on the wheel and cupping Dean’s face in his palms. Running his thumb across the stubble on his chin and feeling his warm lips once more.

 

Dean grabs hold of Aidan’s shirt and pulls him closer, as much as he can with the console between them. His tongue licks Aidan’s bottom lip and Aidan kisses him harder, let's Dean’s tongue into his mouth and exhales deeply.

 

He didn’t fucking expect Dean to feel like coming home, all his misplaced sentiments are slotting in their rightful place. He breaks away from Dean, resting their foreheads together. “The mustache is fucking awful.” Aidan says it and Dean chuckles and he feels like maybe everything is going to be ok.

 

* * *

**Six Months Later**

 

Dean is no longer something half imagined, half real, half a dream. He’s always right there in front of Aidan with his small wrists and quick hands, his blue eyes and his soft smile. The one that doesn’t stretch too far back, how he keeps his mouth closed so no one can see his teeth. It’s too vivid, and just the way that Aidan wants it.

 

“Do you remember what you told me once?” Aidan asks as they sit out on the swinging couch on the back porch of their house in New Zealand.

 

“I’ve told you a lot of things.” Dean says as he pulls the joint from Aidan’s hand and takes a long drag.

 

“You told me, ‘what's the point of tragedy if you can’t kiss through it?’” Aidan chuckles as he says it.

 

“Did I? I don’t remember.” Dean says as he exhales the smoke and squints his eyes from the stinging the exhale brings.

 

“Yeah you did, should have fucking known then you were real tragic.” Aidan pulls the joint back and brings it to his lips.

 

Dean feigns offence. “I’m the tragic one? Do suppose I like a bit of drama at times.”

 

Aidan leans over to Dean and blows the smoke into his mouth, Dean’s lips part as he inhales. His fingers reaching up to Aidan, grabbing hold of his clothes and pulling Aidan down on top of him while the swing moves back and forth. Aidan laughs against Dean’s neck before he places a kiss there.

 

“One time you told me that I was going to be the end of you.” Dean says through a laugh.

 

Aidan looks up and straightens out his features, he rests an arm on Dean’s chest and looks into his eyes. “You’ll absolutely ruin me, but I like someone who can follow through.”

 

Dean pulls Aidan up to his lips and kisses him like their world is going to end.

 

Sometimes there's blooming bruises but those are from light night murmurs and hands wrapped in sheets and lips begging for absolution. Sometimes they don’t know how to love each other gently, sometimes they only know how to do it through aching muscles, and hands that grip like a vise. But they love each other to ruins, with decaying bones and entropy filled lips, and in the mornings they pick each other up with steady hands.

  
In the mornings where it's just them and the words _I love you_ are too bright and blinding but filled with truth and their hands then are meant for building. 


End file.
